The New World 1: In sheep's clothing
by Gremlin23
Summary: If you know Hellsing, you know what happened to Mina, Dracula and Van Hellsing himself. But what of renfield? Why, he went to America of course! This is the first of what I hope to be a series of stories, short or otherwise, about the adventures of the Secret Service's Hellsing Division. Rating for violent scenes.


She felt a rush as she entered the lively bar. It had a much more open, welcoming air than what she had gotten used to at the previous campus. Indeed, the entire university was more alive than either of the two she'd been to before. Reaching the bar she smiled winningly at the tender, who merely raised an eyebrow as he cleaned a glass, waiting for her to order, and got herself a tall glass of soda. She always enjoyed the surprise her strange request tended to get her in bars, but this time she merely got a nod and a closed can along with a sparkling clean glass.

Pouring her drink, she turned around and surveyed the prospects as she sipped her soda. She had looked over him twice before she saw the odd man in the corner reading a rather battered book with the spine faded to the point of illegibility. Smiling to herself, she drained most of her glass before walking up to him, suddenly swaying and stumbling into people every few steps. Reaching him she seemed to trip over her own feet, spilling her soda all over his jacket even as she crashed into him.

"Oh no! I'm, like, so sorry!" she half-yelled, slurring her words just so slightly. She made sure to rub her chest against him as she pulled herself up, she'd done this dance more than once before, and the shirt she wore might have been uncomfortable but it was a size too small for a reason. "Oh that's quite all right miss. We all have accidents from time to time." The man had a pleasant baritone, with a hint of an accent she couldn't place no matter how she tried to remember it. "I feel really bad. I like totally ruined your jacket! I'm such a klutz!" She continued, making sure her hand stayed on his thigh after she 'swayed' a little.

"Really madam, it is but a trifle. A little soap and water and it'll be right as rain." The man continued in his unfailingly polite tone, scaring her just a little at the civilised voice that never seemed to reach the dead eyes underneath his heavy, dark brown eyebrows. "Yeah, well, you know, it's still like my fault and all. I think I'm just a little too drunk." She said and giggled. She was proud of that giggle, it had taken a lot of practice to get it as convincing as it was. "Hey, my dorm is, like, just around the corner! Wanna walk me back? My roomate collects, like, the weirdest clothes and stuff, I'm sure I can get you another jacket! You know, to make up for messing up this nice one you have now..." as she said this she placed a hand on his chest and leaned in a little, emphasizing the 'make up' part subtly.

"While it really isn't necessary to go through any trouble on my account, I would be more than happy to escort you back to your lodgings." She crowed at his words, internally of course, her persona merely let out a slurred "Yay!" and stumbled some more. Soon they were out the door, his book inside his jacket pocket, and heading towards her dormitory building. "I beg your pardon, but I never got your name." The man said, "making conversation to fill the silence" she thought. "I'm Mina! Mina Harker!" came her reply, pulling the name out of the air from a movie she vaguely remembered seeing once. His eyes widened slightly, though in the light of the street lamps she might have imagined it. "Really?" he commented. "How interesting, I knew someone by that name once."

Having reached her room, she made sure to fumble with the keys before getting the door open and almost dragging him inside. "I'll be right back, okay" she said, before walking into her room and 'forgetting' to shut the door. She started clumbsily stripping down to just her knickers before pulling on a large dress shirt, making sure to put on as much of a show as she could get away with. Getting back to the living area, she was shocked to see him once more reading that book, though how he did it without a single light on was beyond her. She sighed theatrically and leaned against the door jamb. "I can't find you a jacket. Can I still make it up to you? We can do anything you like." She was rather proud of the pout she added at the end, she felt it was a good touch.

He quickly put his book away and stood back up. "That's quite alright miss Harker, as I said it was no big thing at all. Please, don't feel the need to go to any trouble on my account." He said quickly. She was starting to suspect him of being gay, it would explain the clothes and book she figured. Still, she had his atention, which was what she needed as her partner sneaked up behind him and the dull thud of his club connecting with the back of the man's skull echoed around their room. "Quickly, we need to get him to the basement. It's almost time," she said, now all business. Her companion, a mountain of a man, easily picked up the limp body and followed her down to the basement where a surprisingly precise pentagram was chiseled out of the cement floor, strange symbols etched in a circle around it.

After a few minutes the man awoke, slowly looking around and groaning at moving his obviously injured head. He seemed to take a few seconds before noticing the strange set of manacles and chains that bound him in a kneeling position on the floor. He gasped when he did, trying in vain to jerk loose. She smiled from her place in the shadows, it had taken a lot of work and disgusting research to develop them. She made a mental note to go back and kill the slobs of men who had drooled over her bound form at that bdsm club, but that was for later.

"There's no use trying to escape, you are trapped." She said, stepping out of the shadows for dramatic effect. "I have worked long and hard researching this ritual, finding the right victims to sacrifice, carefully selecting the proper times and places. Tonight, you will be the last bloody step on my road to power."

With that she drew a long, serpentine dagger from the folds of her black robe, walking over to a large book held up into the light by her still silent companion, now kneeling to act as a living lectern. The man started thrashing, not even managing to fall over, so tightly he was held in the center of the ritual area. With a smile she started chanting, the harsh, gutteral words seeming obscene for all their coming from as well-formed a mouth as hers.

Her eyes widened as the man suddenly stood upright, the chains making clinking noises as their broken links fell to the floor. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, but she knew she couldn't stop the chant if she valued her life or soul, which she did. "You know miss Anabelle," He said calmly, casually inspecting the ritual circle, "You led us on quite the chase. Twelve people dead before we could track you here. Unfortunately for you, I will not be number thirteen. Oh, wait. You call yourself Miss Harker now don't you? No matter, I know exactly who you are, down to your very scent. Now, as I have little desire to entertain the entity you are attempting to call up, I shall make this quick." With that he moved, faster than the eye could follow and with more grace than the human form should rightly be capable of.

"Good evening to you miss Harker, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. You may call me... Renfield." Those were the last words Esther Anabelle heard, blood dribbling down her chin as she tried in vain to complete the ritual that would give her powers beyond mortal understanding even as his hand pulled her beating heart from her chest and snapped her brother's neck in a single movement.


End file.
